After a long hiatus, I’m getting back to Amarna. The simple reason is that I can’t release episodes 17 on until after the next Maudelayne episode airs. Originally that was going to be last month, but BSAP was hacked too so they got behind.
This is the first in a series showing the Maudelayne crossover episode events from the POV of Sophie Roberts, and so there isn’t a strange gap in this novella. It goes from the end of episode 16 through the arrival of Set in the Maud episode.
Excerpt:
The horse whinnied in terror as a spear grazed along his firm cheek. I glanced back through the moonlight to see why Set’s soldiers had caught up so quickly. Gold flashed even in the dark— reflecting off ornamentation on three chariots pulled by plumed war horses. Within each, a soldier was taking grim aim with a spear— at me. Fear tightened in my throat and I closed my eyes, forcing myself to breathe. My own horse felt my resolve and spurted forward with renewed vigour, only to almost scream with pain as two spears sank into his flesh. In a whirl of hooves, he contorted into the air and fell with a smash into the soft scorching sand. The world was a blindness of pain, heat and specks lodged in my eyes.
I heard the chariots pull up beside me and swords being drawn. I lay trying to blink the sand away so that I could see, “don’t suppose we could talk about this?” I croaked out as the horizon slowly came back into focus.
“There is only one punishment for your treason!” from the row of glinting blades pointed in my direction I could guess what it was. Staggering to my feet, I drew my own kopesh and brandished it in what I hoped was an impressive manner, “this is your last chance,” I cried, still dizzy from the fall, “surrender now!”
The soldiers and priests merely laughed— I suppose I did cut rather a pathetic figure. My mouth twitched into an apologetic smile, but I managed to continue, “I mean it!”
As I backed away using my own fallen horse as a shield, the largest man stepped forward— he was at least twice my height and looked as though he could strangle even Westbrook with one hand. I tried to remember Nefertiti’s teachings— I needed to use my smaller size as an advantage, not as something to fear.
The massive soldier charged with a battle roar, bringing his sword down with such force that it sent an avalanche of sand down the dune when I nimbly rolled aside. Time after time he came after me, but I ducked, twisted and jumped out of his way, waiting for an opening and keeping my own sword in close. He raised his strong arms for another blow and in lightening speed that even Nefertiti would have been proud of, I slipped my blade through and he fell with a moaning grunt. The other soldiers, thinking he would end me easily, paused, then came at me all at once.
This was an idea I had while driving along residential streets which were empty. Most of the time, during the day, there isn’t a soul about and the rows of houses start to see ominous somehow– like no-one is actually living there. I had this quick flash of someone going from empty house to empty house. I had always wanted to do a bit of a Zombie story, but the genre was beginning to go stale. I decided to do something different for the opening— instead of 1) Get sick 2) Die 3) Rise up wanting brains I changed it to 1) Die 2) Rise up wanting eyes (windows to the soul). The whole long drawn-out getting sick part is always somewhat revolting, and I wanted the main character to get knocked out and wake up to find everything had already occurred.
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